


All this time (it’s been you)

by Wordsbymoonlight



Series: Forget-Me-Nots [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Minor Laura Hollis/Danny Lawrence, Non-Supernatural, kinda gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsbymoonlight/pseuds/Wordsbymoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laura tries not to let the misfortunes that befall her stop her from being happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	All this time (it’s been you)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I wasn't sure if I was going to post this just yet, what with the OTW situation for the last few days. But what the hell, we're in a season hiatus (#savecarmilla) and we all need fanfic to get us through it. This hasn't been beta-read so please feel free to point out any grammar or spelling mistakes

Laura Hollis is eight years old when her mother dies. Fresh faced, shoulders too slim to carry the weight of tragedy.

A month passes before Laura and her father gather up the strength to kneel before the grave and place lilies, her favourite, on the ground beneath the tombstone. They sit in silence on the ride back, Mark’s knuckles white as he grips the gear shift. She hears him crying that night, in his bedroom where he thinks she won’t see. But Laura’s ears are keen and every muffled sob seems to stab another hole in her chest.

She doesn’t blame him when he stops visiting with her on Sundays. She can’t bring herself to be angry, his eyes are too sullen and the redness around them too noticeable. So she just accepts the money he gives her to buy flowers and takes the bus to the cemetery.

Every so often, she thinks she sees somebody else in the graveyard. A girl, her age perhaps. But she moves quickly and wears black and Laura finds herself thinking that, maybe, the girl is a trick of the light. A figment of her imagination.

There are several graves next to her mother’s, in a row like soldiers stood to attention. Some have faded inscriptions and others are simply unreadable. The one adjacent to her mother’s is the grandest, though. A marble headstone that is forever polished and reads ‘ _Joseph Karnstein, father and friend’_. She has never seen anybody visiting his grave but the small flowerbed below it is always tended, even in winter.

She forms a solidarity with the other visitors. An elderly couple whose son died of an incurable disease and a woman who reads poetry to her father. They smile when she sees them and she returns the favour. It’s a strange routine that Laura has fallen into, but she finds comfort in the fact that even if her father stays at home, she’s not alone.

By the time Laura is 13, the elderly couple have stopped visiting and, when she asks, the poetry reader tells her that the man has had stroke. It’s a small loss but Laura still feels a sting in her heart when she hears the words. The poetry reader, Betty, gives her a sad smile and resumes the stanza she had been reciting.

Laura decides to sit down next to Betty and let the melody of the prose wash over her. Even though they had never spoken much, the couple had shared the sense of quiet mourning that she felt. They had been part of the ramshackle community of the cemetery.

The following year, Laura walks into her first class of high school and sees Betty sat at the teacher’s desk, tapping away at the computer. She discovers that Mrs Spielsdorf the English teacher is less soft spoken than Betty the poetry reader but is just as quick witted. She breathes life into Shakespeare and Laura finds herself falling a little bit in love with her. In the kind of foolish first crush way that Laura manages to convince herself is mere admiration.

There’s no school paper but Betty tells her about the drama club and that’s where she meets them for the first time. Perry, LaFontaine and _Danny_. Danny whose eyes light up when she laughs and who sings softly under her breath when she warms up before rehearsals. It’s Danny, with her athletic arms and easy smile, who captures Laura’s heart in their junior year.

Seldom ever happens at her high school. It’s just your average deal, cliques and clubs and whispered secrets in toilet stalls. One day, the news reaches the student body that a girl has died and Laura mourns with them. Even though she had never talked to her, Laura feels the familiar burn of sadness. It revives itself, now and again; the feeling of dull heartache when she sees her father staring emptily into a mug of tea or a new grave being dug on a Sunday.

Once, in the hallway between classes, she catches the eye of a dark haired girl that she shares a couple classes with. Camilla? Catherine? She reminds Laura of the imaginary girl in the graveyard she saw as a child. This is quickly forgotten, however, as Danny appears, clad in a hockey jersey and grinning. Laura decides that, for the first time since her mother died, she might be okay.

Danny asks her out on a pie date at the local café and, of course, she blushes and accepts. For the first time since that Sunday in March all those years ago, she doesn’t visit her mother’s grave. As Danny’s eyes sparkle back at her over an extravagant milkshake topped with cherries, Laura tells herself that it’s ok, that Danny is worth it.

When she does cycle up to the cemetery the following day, lilies tucked securely under her arm, a single lily is already propped up against the slate. She knows that her dad hasn’t left the house since Friday. He’s in one of his moods and she doesn’t dare bother him. He never progressed through the stages of grief as Laura had. She makes sure that he eats and takes care of himself, hoping that one day, his bright smile will return.

It isn’t Betty either, she just shakes her head and asks Laura if she’s ok when she returns their homework, having noted her absence on her usual day. Laura’s cheeks flush red then, and she mutters something about Danny and a date. Betty chuckles and hums a cheesy 90s love song that Laura vaguely recognises from her childhood.

The thank you note that Laura writes for the mysterious person is gone when she next stops by the grave, on the way to Danny’s house for movie night. She absently touches the spot where she had left it. There’s a flash of darkness in her periphery, but when she looks up, all she sees is the groundskeeper on his rounds. He wears white overalls and moves in slow, decisive movements.

Hours after returning home, Laura still feels as if she’s floating. Danny, _her_ Danny, had kissed her in the middle of the dancefloor. They had sat on the football field afterwards, breathless and beaming, talking about life after high school. And there, under the starry night of senior prom, Danny Lawrence tells Laura that she loves her and Laura believes it.

On the day that her acceptance letter arrives, her father wakes before her. When she stumbles down the stairs, bleary eyed, he is sat at the kitchen table with the envelope leaning against a mug of cocoa. As the torn paper falls away, she feels her heartrate pick up.

This was it.

Without thinking, she squeals and hugs him. There’s a moment of silence before he congratulates her and the twinkle in his eye starts to creep back in.

Her final visit to the cemetery before she leaves for university is a quiet one. There’s the soft hum of Dickinson and the ringing of the church bells and Laura’s subdued muttering. She tells her mother about Danny and her father. About how nervous she is.

The dormitory room is a double, to Laura’s delight. Her roommate is a shy pre-med student who laughs at the cheesy jokes her boyfriend cracks and has the sweetest smile Laura has ever seen. Every Sunday evening, she skypes Danny and they lay awake for hours after, tapping out messages at lightning speed.

These soon peter out to every other Sunday, but Laura knows that Danny is probably busy. Besides, they still text.

Perry, LaFontaine and Danny come over for thanksgiving. Her father labours away in the kitchen and produces perhaps the most extravagant turkey in recorded history. LaFontaine chatters away with him about the latest scientific discoveries and Danny’s fingers tangle with Laura’s. She’s happy.

It’s supposed to be a surprise. SJ and Kirsch drive her to the airport on the first day of the winter holidays, the journey punctuated by Kirsch’s singing and SJ’s laughter. It’s the first real holiday of her second year at Silas. She hasn’t seen Danny or her father since they waved her off at the train station in September.

She hears them before she sees them. Little giggles and _that_ sound Danny makes when _they_ kiss. Right there, as she’s stood on the sidewalk in late December, Laura feels her heart shatter into a devastating mess.

When she rounds the corner, she realises that it’s Natalie from high school. Of course it is. Danny’s face falls when she sees her and apologies start tumbling from her lips. Her perfect lips that had, seconds before, been pressed against Natalie’s.

It hadn’t taken them long to fall apart, despite their promises of forever.

This is what dominates Laura’s mind as she sobs, forehead leaning against the grave. Rain begins to fall, merging with her tears and chilling her to the bone. It’s not Betty’s visit day and the groundskeeper is nowhere to be seen. She’s alone.

Her first instinct is to panic when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see the dark haired girl from high school staring back down at her, eyes full of concern. She doesn’t really know how to reply when the girl asks if she’s ok, she just sighs shakily. The girl unwinds her scarf and wraps it around Laura before crouching in front of the marble grave.

His daughter, then. Joseph Karnstein’s daughter. She briefly wonders if he looks anything like the pale girl that is pulling weeds from the flowerbed. The bright flowers of summer are gone, replaced by delicate forget-me-nots. The girl plucks a blue flower and tucks it behind Laura’s ear, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards momentarily. They sit in silence, for a while. When the rain stops, the girl whispers “Only a fool would break your heart,” and promptly vanishes.

Inexplicably, her heart flutters when the florist tells her, jokingly, that her title of favourite customer may have been stolen. _Not the same as an entire bouquet_ , he chuckles and Laura manages to smile weakly.

Danny leaves her 34 voicemails and sends 76 texts during the week following their breakup. Laura assumes it was a breakup, what else could it be? Her father makes her countless mugs of hot cocoa and, for once, it is her who cries into his shoulder.

Kirsch and SJ don’t ask about Danny. Laura assumes that Perry must’ve called them because they are gentle and soft with her in a way they weren’t before. She’s lucky, she supposes. Lucky to have people in her life that care. Danny didn’t care enough.

She muddles through the rest of her degree, pushing herself when the exams draw closer. Laura is told by many people: SJ, Kirsch and LaF amongst others that she’s working too hard. And she is. But the constant nature of writing and re-reading keeps her going when there’s nothing left to feel.

Intern at The Howard Chronicle isn’t the _most_ glamourous of first jobs but she is overjoyed when the editor agrees to take her on for a trial period. Her father, now with greying hair and an increasing amount of wrinkles has tears in his eyes when she loads the last of her belongings into her new car.

The apartment is small but Laura feels weightless when she wakes up there for the first time. Perry calls it cosy, fussing over the furniture arrangement and LaF gives her a peculiar potted plant to place in the corner of the crowded living room.

Time goes by quickly, she falls into a pattern, a rhythm not felt since before the break up. Days at the office, nights in front of the flickering TV or surrounded by her friends. Perry and LaF finally give into the inevitable, gradually and gingerly. Laura never feels out of place with them, seldom feeling like a third wheel or as if she’s intruding. For this, she is glad.

Louis, the editor of the paper, sends her away on a weekend trip to England, to interview a rising artist who is notoriously elusive – at least that’s what he tells her. There’s next to nothing online about her. She operates under a pseudonym, _Mircalla_ and all Laura finds is a couple of audio only tracks on YouTube and grainy footage where her face is obscured by a theatrical mask.

The email she receives from the musician’s agent, a Mr O. Quentin, is brief. Laura doesn’t quite know what to expect, it’s her first big story after all. It’s early autumn and there’s a chill frosting up window panes. Unconsciously, she reaches for the soft woollen scarf, draping it across her shoulders before sweeping up her laptop and various notepads into her arms. The door clicks clumsily shut behind her.

Camus’ _The Stranger_ sits atop the grass, dog eared cover poking above bright wildflowers. Her back is facing Laura, hair falling loosely over a leather jacket. She is swaying slightly and a guitar is visible, the wood obviously worn. Melodic, that’s how Laura would describe the voice that then filled the air.

She makes cautious steps towards the figure, trying not to disturb her. It’s an intimate thing, hearing somebody sing when they think nobody is listening. Raw and unfiltered. Digital recordings of songs can never quite compare to the real thing. When it draws to an end, Laura can’t help but quietly utter ‘That was amazing’.

Freezing, the girl seems to stop breathing in that moment. The guitar is lowered slowly and she begins to turn towards Laura. It’s her. Dark haired girl. Forget-me-not girl. The girl whose scarf she is currently wearing. A smile dances in her eyes and a laugh escapes from Laura’s lips. They formally introduce themselves, because they are practically strangers. Carmilla, that’s the girl’s name.

It becomes clear that Carmilla is jagged and sharp, far from perfect. But she can be sweet and, despite her protests, Laura doesn’t mind the ridiculous nicknames. When Laura finally stops writing frantically and Carmilla leaves, she kicks herself. Momentarily, she considers emailing the agent to get Carmilla’s number. A stupid idea, she thinks.

When she reviews her notes later that night, she finds a number hidden in the corner of one of the pages. She types out a rambling text thanking Carmilla for her time, using an inexcusable amount of exclamation marks. She deletes it.

**_(02:13) Hey, it’s Laura :)_ **

_(02:14) Cupcake, I hate to break it to you, but it’s 2 in the morning_

**_(02:14) ...Yikes._ **

**_(02:14) Ok I may or may not have spent too long watching tv instead of writing up the interview_ **

_(02:16) Nice to know I’m a top priority_

**_(02:17) Shhh, I wanted to ask you something_ **

_(02:22) Well..?_

_(02:35) Creampuff?_

**_(02:38) Sorry! I fell asleep, I was watching doctor who_ **

_(02:39) You’re such a nerd_

**_(02:39) ‘nerd’?_ **

**_(02:39) I didn’t think that was in your vocabulary_ **

**_(02:39) miss eloquence karnstein_ **

_(02:41) Says the girl who called ellen page ‘adorkable’_

**_(02:42) Shut up…_ **

**_(02:45) Anyway, I still have your scarf_ **

_(02:46) Not entirely sure that qualifies as a question_

**_(02:46) Ok: I still have your scarf, are you free to meet up anytime soon so I can return it?_ **

_(02:48) Is this just your way of asking me out?_

**_(02:54) Don’t flatter yourself_ **

_(02:55) Whatever you say, cutie_

_(02:55) There’s a bakery downtown that does the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had, I’ll pick you up from yours at 12 on saturday?_

**_(02:58) Sounds good_ **

**_(02:58) Now, to resume my marathon_ **

_(03:01) Go to sleep, buttercup, surely it’s past your bedtime_

**_(03:03) I could say the same to you_ **

_(03:12) Goodnight x_

They begin to spend more and more time with each other after that.

Carmilla is there when Laura receives the first copy of the Chronicle with her article printed it. Carmilla is there to kiss her on the cheek and be drawn into a crushing hug. She tags along on road trips, providing the soundtrack as the world blurs around them. She’s there for the 3rd thanksgiving without Danny, celebrated with LaF and Perry who have learned to ignore the biting sarcasm.

Nobody dares to say anything when Laura and Carmilla sit, hands linked, at the dinner table while LaF tries valiantly to carve the turkey. They stay up late that night, talking about stars and music and the universe. She wakes the next morning with her head buried in Carmilla’s neck and her hand resting on her waist.

She tries not to scream as a car speeds past them, winding her arms tighter round Carmilla’s waist. It’s safe to say she was at first suspicious of the Triumph, leaning proudly against the brick wall of her apartment block. Now though, she’s learning to love it, if only to make Carmilla happy.

And when they eventually go out on that date, she can’t help but beam for the entire evening. Her smile falters slightly when Carmilla mumbles out an apology, saying that she hasn’t really done… _this_ …since _her_. Laura knows she is talking about Ell Ryder, the bubbly debate captain with sparkling blue eyes who passed away in high school. Well, that’s what they told everyone. _Passed away_. Her train of thought ends abruptly when she meets Carmilla’s concerned gaze, squeezing her hand harder and running her thumb over her knuckles reassuringly.

Laura often finds her eyes sliding away from whatever she’s doing, away from the screen of her laptop and from the pile of paperwork waiting to be completed to where Carmilla sits, perching on the windowsill or across from her at the desk, engrossed in a novel. They hover over her fingers, watching as they flick pages and drum lightly on her knee. Brown eyes meet hers, eyebrow quirked playfully.

There are arguments, of course there are. Petty feuds over nothing at all that end in the two of them tangled in bed or on the sofa, whispers barely audible over the ticking of the clock.

They’re happy.   

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at inexplicable-obsessions.tumblr.com (come and shout at me)


End file.
